


Jyn Erso Takes on University

by paperface



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baze Defends his Muffins, Baze the Baker, Chirrut should walk around with a HAZARD sign, College is hard okay, F/M, Implied Chirrut/Baze, M/M, Saw Gerrera (mentioned), Sorta blended modern/star wars setting, Spunky Jyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperface/pseuds/paperface
Summary: All Jyn wants is to not fail a quiz and to win over her acerbic roommate and to get the good seat in weapons mechanics and to avoid the creepy professor who's infatuated with her father and to copy notes off the boy in her weapons mechanics class and to go to a party that's Not-a-Frat-Party and to not antagonize said boy in her weapons mechanics class and to not get fired from her job and to maybe show up on time for her job and to not drunkenly embarrass herself in front of said boy from her weapons mechanics class who is actually sorta cute and to not flunk out of university all together and to finally change her Britta filter before her roommate notices and most importantly to not find the boy in her weapons mechanics class sorta cute because when did that happen?Or: Jyn does not have her life together, but she does have her wits and a charming personality, so really, how hard can college be? (Really hard.)





	1. Step 1: Win Over the Roommate

There were somethings Jyn Erso definitely didn't do at six in the morning on a Friday, such as _waking up_ or _mixing pancake batter for ungrateful roommates_ but today she was doing them all. She had woken up with the intentions of studying her notes for weapons mechanics, a class that should have been an easy A for her but had turned into the bane of her existence, but had been stymied by her lack of notes and the horrible thought that the class was now personally attacking her on two fronts —quizzes and class content — and now had managed to turn her daydreaming skills against her. Already awake, she had decided to whip up some pancakes as a surprise breakfast to win over her roommate who, it was safe to say, wasn't fond of her.  


Scarif University was one of the best universities that offered a military studies major _and_ an energy enrichment program that offered crystallography, which was the only reason Jyn left her terrible job at Wobani's Department Store where working commission felt like forced labor. That, and the fact that her über competitive sales associate, Kennel, was starting to take "friendly competition" a little too seriously. Jyn got in on the Every Child Deserves a Chance fellowship, thanks to exceeding the required amount of years spent being homeless and a rap sheet long enough to be impressive (upon her inevitable "character reformation"), but its contents petty enough to not be a liability. Jyn didn't mind being a pawn when the alternative was either a) a shanking over a pair of overpriced boots by someone named _Kennel_ or, well, there really was no alternative. And Scarif was fairly nice, equal portions a college town, and equal portions a city, and so far none of the rumored secret beaches Jyn had heard about.  


Her roommate Mark was an OCD, long-haired electrical engineer from Tatooine with perpetually raised eyebrows and an unhealthy addiction to blue milk. He wasn’t very cool, and his dream was to construct showers in space bases, which was a little on the small side as far as dreams were concerned, but he also managed to remember to turn in his assignments, complete his work study, and have a social life. Jyn, capable of doing none of these things, was willing to become his padawan of sorts, in the grand art of winning-at-college. The only hiccup was he was interested in spending as little time with her as possible.  


They had actually selected each other as roommates, which was why Jyn was so determined for them to be friends. That, and Mark somehow managed to get invited to off-campus parties that Jyn only glimpsed through his snapchat stories. Besides, Jyn had had roommates before — during her stint at an intergalactic youth detention center and at her stint at Saw Gerrera’s could-pass-as-an-intergalactic-youth-detention-center home. Neither had worked out well. Jyn frowned at the memories, one hand protectively going to her bun. She stopped wearing braids when Yamri Oson, a fellow Gerrera ward with no sense of solidarity, had discovered the nuclear combination of hairspray and lighter fluid. _It grew back._ Humming, Jyn turned her attention back to the pancake — the blueberries had slid in the batter, resembling more of a grimace than a grin — there was something to be said for “making things work.” With a flick of her wrist, the brown pancake flopped onto the stack, joining ranks with its grimacing brethren.  


Around seven, the sounds of Jyn rummaging around in the kitchen lured Mark out of his room with bedhead and a resigned expression and a mouth slightly open so he could say “I told you so” as fast as possible, if need be. He was no doubt imagining another spatula-melted-onto-frying-pan incident.  


“Ta-da!” Jyn lifted the plate up. “Pancakes. First roomie surprise of the year.”  
Mark stared at her, still bleary eyed.  


“What?” Jyn asked with a winning smile. “Surprised I can cook?” She held the spatula over her shoulder like a parasol. “Call me Iron Chef Jyn.”  


Mark yawned. “No. I just thought you worked on Friday mornings, that’s all.”  


The spatula clattered to the ground. “Fuck.” Baze was going to kill her. She grabbed her shoes and was halfway out the door when Mark called after her, “And this would never be an iron chef challenge!”

  


The Baze Cave catered to the hipster intellectuals of the world and it showed. It took up the first floor of two buildings, which would have been impressive if the buildings hadn't been old and narrow and therefore tiny. The first building was rectangular and long, but quite narrow, and it only held the display counter and a couple of high stools for people who had to eat and run. Most college students, after ordering, went into the other building, which had been turned into a philosopher's wet dream. It was filled with mismatched chairs and tables and a couple of old sofas, and the walls were filled with books Chirrut had gotten from flea markets and used bookstores for under three dollars each. "For when the children inevitably steal them," he had told Jyn when he gave her the tour on her first day, patting a shelf serenely.  


Unfortunately for Jyn, she didn't get to hang out in the den section of the café with the eternally calm Chirrut, sipping tea and reading ancient texts in spite of a disability called blindness with deft suaveness. She got to hang out behind the display case with Chirrut's partner Baze, a huge hulk of a man who refused to wear shirts with sleeves or run a comb through his long curly hair. He was a mechanic in his free time and Jyn theorized he had sold his ability to ever smile or express joy for the two-building one-lease situation. He was the last person you expected to enjoy making muffins.  


"I know I'm late but I have a good reason," Jyn said before Baze could muster up his signature growl. She had run from her apartment and, thanks to cardio, was not out of breath. Her beaming expression seemed to rub Baze the wrong way.  


"Do not care," Baze said. "You are late again. Fifth time. You've only had eight shifts."  


"Still not enough to make it a trend."  


A low growl rumbled in Baze's chest. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with an ugly, mustard yellow, stained apron. "You get Ugly Dandelion today."  


Jyn recoiled at the unsightly apron. It reeked of sulfur. The sewed on flowers were a strange shade of yellow that not only clashed with the mustard, but also did not appear in nature. "Oh, please no."  


Baze's mouth pulled back to show sharp white teeth clenched together. "I insist."  


"Fine." She yanked the apron on. "Happy?"  


"Eh." Baze motioned for her to come behind the counter. "Let me tell you about today's specials. If you keep talking, I will walk away."  


"Don't you want to know why I was late?" No answer. Jyn beamed, putting her hands on her hips only to recoil at the stiff texture of the apron. "I made pancakes! With blueberries! Arranged in a smiley face!"  


Baze crouched down to admire one of his muffins, not paying attention, but probably thinking that his specials were too good for Jyn and her tardiness. He had such an attachment to those muffins Jyn couldn't comprehend how he was okay watching them be consumed.  


"I'm saying you've rubbed off on me. Inspiration. Hero. Role model. Chief Baker."  


" _Head_ Baker," Baze snapped, standing up. "Now get to work. You're also on dishes for being late." He paused before disappearing into the kitchen. "And your idiot roommate doesn't deserve any strawberry pancakes from you. Make them for me next time."  


"Blueberry pancakes!" Jyn shouted after him, situating herself behind the register.  


"I'm not listening!" Baze shouted back.  


Chirrut came in towards the end of her shift. He walked through the glass doors, humming serenely and tapping his walking stick around him with careless abandon. He had a track record of whacking customers in the ankles and not realizing it, at which point Baze, watching from the counter, would groan and slam his head on the coffee maker.  


"Chirrut, you're back." It had been a slow day, so Jyn was perched next to the coffee machine, reading an old magazine. Baze had offered to let her observe his muffin making, but became irrationally irritated when she "didn't take it seriously". "Where were you? You're usually here in the morning."  


"I am one with the force and the force is with me." Jyn had gathered this was some kind of goodwill mantra Chirrut loved to spout out. She rolled with it. "I went to get some books. Very interesting."  


Baze had come back to the front at the sound of Chirrut's voice. He snorted. "You can't read."  


Chirrut dismissed this senseless claim. "With the force you can do anything."  


Baze rolled his eyes. "Idiot."  


"Why are you out here?" Jyn asked. "I thought one always had to supervise the muffins, upon baking. You weren't missing us, or anything, were you?"  


Baze scowled. "For your information, I have to make sure this idiot doesn't decapitate anyone with his force-guided death stick, and that you don't break the espresso machine again. Also, the muffins have finished baking and are now cooling off in a secure, unknown location where you will not disturb them."  


"I am not an enemy of the muffin!"  


"You have no respect for the muffins. Have you done the dishes yet?"  


Jyn groaned. She'd forgotten about the dishes. It was 10:59, and her shift ended at 11:00. "Baze, please. My class starts at 11:45."  


"You have plenty of time."  


"No, she doesn't." Chirrut looked up from his books. "This is the one with the spot."  


"Oh, for the love of—" Baze threw the dishrag at Jyn and disappeared into the kitchen, swearing in a different language, but the sentiment was universal.  


  


Jyn reached Kala Hall at 11:38. Pausing to catch her breath, she leaned her head on the elegant wooden doors. Cardio could only do so much. It sounded quiet on the other end. Students generally filed in right before class; she wasn’t the only one with a grudge against weapons mechanics. Maybe the lecture hall was empty. Hopeful, she cracked one door open and—

Nope. There he was, innocently reading a book. The only person in the whole lecture hall. Her arch-nemesis, Cassian Andor. 

Jyn stalked in, letting the door slam shut behind her. Cassian glanced up from his book. He had delicate features in his face — long lashes, cheekbones, a soft smile. It was a pretty face to cover up the devious Machiavellian interior. His hair was dark and flopped about tauntingly every time he moved his head. More important than Cassian was where he was sitting—in the corner of the back row, right in front of the heater and in the crosshairs of two windows that not only provided beautiful golden light, a light breeze, but also a beautiful view of Scarif’s courtyard. 

“You’re in my spot.”

“This is not your spot.” Cassian turned back to his book.

Jyn walked over until she was right in front of him. “I can wait for you to move.”

“Again, this is not your spot.”

“That is my chair you’re sitting in.”

“This is the property of the university. Do you own the university?”

“I could.”

Cassian glanced up again, amused at the absurdity of the claim. “I don’t think so. You’re in my light.”

“The light is coming from behind you, you idiot.”

Cassian smiled at her under his floppy hair. “I like the shadows. Scoot.”

With a bang, the lecture hall doors were thrown open again, and students started to file in. Jyn growled a growl worthy of Baze and sat in the spot next to Cassian.

“Um.” Cassian set his book down. “What are you doing?”

“Silent protest.”

“Work on the first part.” 

“Don’t tell me how to rebel.” A strong wind blew in from the window to the left of Cassian and Jyn shivered.

He saw it out of the corner of his eye, and made a big show of leaning back into the heater. Vowing to one day destroy him, Jyn yanked her thin shirt closer around her. Tropical climate her ass. 

Professor Draven walked in with a stack of essays under his arms, and the room silenced. Jyn’s snide remark to Captain Hairflop evaporated on her tongue. Draven had disliked her immediately on the basis of her “attitude” and her subsequent work in the class did nothing to improve his opinion, or her grades. 

“Good morning...class,” Draven added the last word reluctantly. He was a heavy set guy with a tough face and flourished when he was among his curt, caustic world-weary people, but among young, impervious-to-the-hardships-of-life, brightminded students, he was constantly pushed to his limits. Not one class had ended with him not swapping the word “class” out for “creampuffs.” Previous to this petition, Draven was an army general and a former drill sergeant and it was dreadfully obvious he missed the military environment. 

“I hope everyone did the reading,” Draven said. “Because there will be a quiz.” A large portion of the class groaned, Jyn with them.  
Cassian rolled his eyes and delved deeper into his book. 

“That better be porn, Mr. Andor, or put it away.” Nothing went unnoticed by Draven. 

Beet-red, Cassian stuffed the book in his backpack. 

Draven walked over and stood in front of Cassian, arms folded behind his back. “If the university had accepted my revised pedagogical protocol, I would smack you with that book as a punishment for the incompetence to attain a decent haircut and some self-respect.”

Jyn snorted. 

Draven pivoted to sear her with a glare. “You. Funny guy.”

She internally groaned. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

“Forgery of identification cards, possession of illegal substances, aggravating the class curve, and resisting education.” He leaned forward, hands still folded, so his nose was an inch away from Jyn’s. If only he knew her actual rap sheet. “You, young lady, are in dire need of an attitude adjustment. Hope you did the reading. Your last quiz was, as those before it, abysmal.”

He walked away, “And you—bookworm—” he called without looking back.

Cassian groaned. 

“Get a haircut for God’s sake. This is the military you’re joining, not some rebellion.”

“I hate that guy.”

“Me too.” Cassian tried to push his hair back but it fell forward again. “Do you really have a fake?”

“It’s pretty shitty.” 

Cassian nodded. He seemed to adhere to the the-enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend philosophy, because he decided to ask her another question, “How bad was your last quiz?”

“Three out of ten.”

He gaped at her. “Did you even open the textbook?”

She shrugged. She hadn’t gotten around to buying it. Whoever said textbooks in college were optional was a liar. “Is that porn you’re reading?”  
Flustered, Cassian turned to the front of the room. His ears, poking out of that mess of hair, were pinking. Jyn almost smiled, but rubbed her lips together so her mouth made a hard line instead.

“Silence,” Draven called out from the podium. “Quizzes are being passed out. One peep out of anyone and you all receive a zero. A cell phone goes off and everyone’s grade drops five percent. Anyone cheats and your final grades will be changed to match Erso’s. Let's go, creampuffs. Move those pencils."

She had made quite a reputation for herself as a slacker, and that made her an efficient threat. 

The slap of paper on paper filled the room and filled Jyn was dread. Another dent in her grade. The girl next to her passed her two copies. She passed one to Cassian without looking at him. He cleared his throat. 

Her eardrums throbbed as she read the questions over. Mechanics she knew a fair bit about, but she was more MacGyver than Einstein, and she didn’t know a single thing. _Oh my God. I’m really going to fail out of college._

Cassian coughed loudly. She winced, thinking of airborne bacteria. He coughed a second time with odd urgency. 

Jyn glanced over. His quiz was on the edge of his desk, tilted towards her, with all of the answers filled in. After making sure Draven was peering into some other poor student’s soul, she hastily copied them. 

_Thank you,_ she mouthed at Cassian. He nodded and straightened his quiz. 

The rest of class, Jyn actually paid attention. She generally stared forlornly out of the windows, but now an upright mop was blocking her view and she definitely didn’t want him to think she was looking at him. Draven passed out an article for them to read while he graded their quizzes, which was usually a period of low whispering and procrastination on the part of the class. 

In her peripheral, Cassian fidgeted, moving closer to her then further away, mouth opening and closing. She intentionally stared at the article with a burning intensity, so as not to encourage any socializing. It worked and Cassian gave up, digging his book out of his bag and hiding it behind the article. 

“Congratulations, Erso,” Draven said when he handed the quizzes back, a red 100% at the top of hers. “I see you did the reading, for once. There’s hope for you yet. And Mr. Andor—better luck next time.” 

Once Draven was out of earshot, she turned to stare at Cassian, who shrugged and held up his 7/10. Three of the lines bore heavy erasure marks. She wanted to accuse him of changing his answers after she’d copied, so Draven wouldn’t suspect cheating, but Cassian just stared at her nonchalantly, with that floppy hair and those chocolate brown eyes and the long, long lashes— 

“You should cut your hair,” Jyn said bluntly. “You look like a mop.” She grabbed her things and hurried out of the classroom. 

  


Jyn’s phone rang just as she was getting into her apartment. She jumped at the sound, her first assumption that Mophead from mechanics was calling her. Which, she reasoned, after steadying herself, was ridiculous because they’d never exchanged numbers. She picked up, actively avoiding why her brain jumped to that conclusion.

“Hello, Jyn.”

Jyn put two fingers over her eyes and breathed deeply. “Hello, Mon.”

“I am so glad you picked up this time.”

“I’m glad you finally discovered star-sixty-seven.”

“I see the climate hasn’t chilled that lovably chill exterior.”

“I’m busy.”

“Of course. How has your first semester been?”

“Swell. I got a hundred percent on a quiz today.” _Through cheating._

“Lovely. Now, I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, Jyn.” 

“I haven’t spoken to my father.” 

"That’s not why I’m calling. I wanted to talk to you about Saw—” 

Nope. Without a pretense, Jyn hung up and turned on airplane mode. She entered her apartment and suddenly felt tired. Mon Mothma was floating around her head. Mark wasn’t home yet, but that wouldn’t matter. Jyn’s chest ached. She was a speck. A tiny speck in an apartment and if she died or had a stroke or burst into butterflies, nobody would know. 

She laid down on the couch, completing her sorry excuse for a life. At least when she was on her own, the constant moving never allowed for her to dwell on how alone she was. In this paralyzed state, she was hyperaware of how the only thing that hadn’t turned out to be a disappointment was her job at the Baze Cave where, ironically, she was the disappointment. Granted, it was better than her two jobs, and she had yet to be fired. 

Between her father and Saw Gerrera and her own stints with the law, Jyn had assumed military studies would be a piece of cake. In reality, she had failed almost every weekly quiz in weapons mechanics, and had failed to show up for her eight a.m. Tuesdays and Thursdays Weapons through the Wars history lecture. Her intro-to-blasters lab proved to her that, despite being wildly accurate with a blaster, she knew nothing of the components of a blaster and had yet to complete the week one lab of putting a blaster back together. Her energy major classes were theoretical and geological and she’d found out with immense disappointment that only juniors and up were allowed to take crystallography courses, which was the whole reason she’d come to Scarif, and now she’d have to wait two years with absolutely zero confidence that she could last two years, and that terrified her. 

The front door opened and Mark’s footsteps shuffled forward, then ceased when he took in his roommate sprawled across the couch. “Um.”

“I’m celebrating.” Jyn had no energy to whip let-me-be-your-best-friend antics. She waved him on. “Go on.”

“O-kay.” He head to his room, before glancing back at his distressed roommate. 

“Just a tiny migraine,” Jyn said. Anything to get him to not ask questions. At this point, who cares if Mark thinks she’s unbalanced? 

Mark hesitated in his doorway. “There’s a party tonight,” he said with a pained expression on his face. “Not a frat party,” he added before she could ask, “if you’re interested.”

Jyn bucked herself into a sitting position. “A party that will serve something other than beer and not be filled with red-faced guys in Hawaiian shirts?”  
“I really don’t know what kind of parties you’ve been going to.”

She waved this away and mused out-loud, “Acing my mechanics quiz and getting no beer in my hair on a Friday night? This is a blessing. We should drink.” 

Mark shook his head, on a different wavelength as her per usual. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered as he walked away. 

Jyn let out a shriek and fell back on the couch, kicking her feet in the air. It had been a good day.


	2. Not a Frat Party

The pregame took place at Oriana’s apartment, a small space with a musky stained furniture set and loud, tie-dyed tapestries draped over the walls. A ska punk band was pumping through the speakers. Jyn had no idea who Oriana was; despite his acerbic nature, Mark had managed to make more friends than people Jyn saw on a daily basis. And, for some obscure reason, all of his friends happened to be tall, Jyn noted with a scowl. They towered around her like New York skyscrapers, and were equally unfriendly.

“Oh, hey, hey—” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mark walking off with some friends. She latched onto his arm before he disappeared into the crowd. “What’s up?” She blinked, focusing on Mark’s brown eyes. The bright colors of the tapestries left her feeling slightly psychedelic.

“I’m...going to the kitchen?” He looked between her hand and her wide eyes with a familiar degree of wariness. “Do you...want to come?”

“Yes,” Jyn said, possibly too loudly. “I love kitchens!”

  


Being a freshman meant Jyn had full access to most of the frat house ragers, with the rare exception of mixers, no questions asked. And if she hung around the bar, drinking as much free alcohol as possible without talking to anyone, no one really cared. It was a good system for doing something on Friday and Saturday nights. Baze and Chirrut stayed at the bakery on the weekends; the downfall of catering a bakery to hipsters and insomniacs meant actually being open for the insomniacs. As much as Jyn loved them, there was only so many consecutive hours she could spend around sweet things. She used to stay in, reading and watching documentaries and eating junk food, but everytime she heard Mark clamber in at three in the morning, drunken giggling with one of his friends who’d escorted him back to the dorms rising over her television, she felt inexplicably left out. 

She’d always been more a loner, which Jyn saw as an advantage. It allowed her to be comfortable doing things alone — say, going to frat parties, for example. But when she caught herself watching under her door for the main light to turn on and to see Mark’s shoes go past, and straining her ears to hear the conversations in his room instead of the documentary on World War II airplanes, and when she was still awake at four in the morning with no explanation but a small twinge in her heart, she finally admitted she was lonely. 

  


They had to walk two blocks to get to the house. One of Mark’s engineer friends was hosting it. Jyn lagged behind the group. She’d felt overdressed in jeans and a tank top and a bit like a preschooler in the sea of crop tops and ripped shorts, but in the brisk night air, she was very glad she’d opted for jeans. Mark was ahead of her, sandwiched between two of his girl friends, all very intoxicated, judging by their stumbling gait. The girls’ outfits matched and Jyn imagined them getting ready together. The ache in her chest was back and Jyn stuck her hands in her pockets and focused on her shoes.

”This is it! That house!” Mark called. 

The house in question was a simple two-story, small and painted blue with a chipped porch. The lights were off but the familiar thud of a booming bass speaker assured the group they were in the right place. Mark took them down the side to the basement door.

He knocked twice. No one answered.

”Knock harder,” Jyn advised. He glared at her, but knocked with more vigor. Still nothing. Someone behind her was grumbling. Jyn stepped forward and pounded on the door.

”Jesus!” A boy exclaimed, covering his ears with his hands

Mark looked absolutely mortified.

The door swung open. ”Yo,” A skinny teenager in a baja hoodie with long black hair said, swaying back so that the contents of his solo cup splattered over him. He took Jyn in, red eyes squinting. “Who are you?”

Mark swooped in front of her. “Hey, man, she’s with me.”

”Yo, Mark. Wassup?”

”Can we get in?”

Baja Hoodie craned his neck past Mark. “Big group. It’s kinda crowded. We’re almost out of jungle juice.”

”Bodhi, come on.

”We walked two blocks,” the girl next to Jyn complained, tugging on her crop top. “And it’s cold.” The guy—Bodhi—didn’t react to her, so she leaned over to Jyn, “And they’re never out of alcohol. Just sneak up to the kitchen and go into the upper cabinets.”

Jyn was taken aback. “Uh—is that allowed?”

The girl just snorted and continued to jump in place, shivering.

”Ah, man, I’m just fucking with you,” Bodhi said with a placid grin. “Come into mi casa.”

”Thanks, Bod,” Mark said, dabbing him. Bodhi scooted back so they could file down the narrow stairs leading toward the basement.

The atmosphere changed the minute they hit the basement. Flashing lights made Jyn grateful she didn’t suffer from epilepsy or a white shirt. The grumbling that had been so prevalent outside turned to shrieks and laughter as the group converged on the dance floor. One of Mark’s friends grabbed Jyn’s hand and dragged her to the open bar in the corner.

Bodhi was pouring the shots. He stopped talking to Mark when the girls came up. “Tequila?”

”Yes,” Jyn said. “Big yes.”

”Oh no,” Mark murmured.

Bodhi poured a series of shots, his shaky hands splattering Patrón all over the table.

”You drank a lot at the house,” Mark reminded Jyn as she threw back her second shot. Bodhi, ready with an orange juice chaser, looked on with huge eyes.

”Yeah, but I don’t think there was much in that,” Jyn said. “I don’t feel it at all.”

Mark muttered something else under his breath, possibly a prayer.

”Hey man,” Bodhi said, turning to Mark as Jyn took on her third shot. He nodded his head up and then raised an eyebrow. 

Mark understood the code. “I’m in.” Jyn didn’t, and took another shot. Bodhi slyly nudged the bottle of tequila away from her. 

”Let’s go. Kay’s shit is good. From his cousin in California.”

”Oh, shit, he’s here? I didn’t even see him.”

”Yeah. Besides, we got some better alc upstairs.”

”Let’s go,” Mark pushed off the bar, before hesitating.

”Go on,” Jyn told him. “I’m fine.”

The conflict was clear on his face—he doubted her, but he also really didn’t want to babysit her. She smiled, trying to encourage him to go. He’d gotten her into the party; he’d introduced her to his friends. There was only so much Mark could do for her. 

”Okay.” His voice was uncertain but his face was relieved. Bodhi hopped over the bar, Patrón bottle tucked under his arm and hit Mark on the back before leading the way upstairs.

Jyn sighed into her empty plastic shot glass before flicking it across the bar table. She stepped toward the dance floor and in that pivot all the alcohol hit her at once.

  


Out of all the things she expected from a Not-A-Frat party, probably the last was to run into Cassian Andor. As in, literally stumble headfirst into his chest with enough force to knock him backwards and as he was unfortunately on the last steps of the basement stairs when that happened, they both careened onto splintered wooden stairs that groaned under their weight. 

“Ow.” Cassian propped himself up, a small frown on his face as he dusted wood chippings off of his jacket. He looked more annoyed than injured. The green and blue laser lights flashed in his eyes and Jyn realized for the first time, despite the average color, they held a great amount of depth. “How can someone so small have so much momentum?”

Jyn shrugged. “Cannonball.”

He glanced over. “Rhetorical.”

“Well, you were in my way.” A small line started to form behind Cassian.

“This is the seat bullshit all over again!”

“If you think it’s bullshit, why don’t you just let it go?”

Cassian scowled and opened his mouth, but one of the guys in the backed up staircase hollered down, “Get a fucking room, you retards.” Jyn found the notion of her and Cassian together so absurd, she fell backwards off Cassian and onto the cold concrete floor. She heard muffled swearing and shuffling, then Cassian’s face appeared in front of her, one eyebrow raised in a quizzical fashion. His hair was ruffled. Jyn reached an arm out, fingers touching air, and imagined the silky feel of strands.

“What kind of weird sense of humor do you have?”

Jyn tilted her head. “Is that rhetorical too?”

Instead of answering, Cassian extended his hand. Jyn looked at it, then back at him in a Not-Going-to-Happen way.

“Someone’s going to step on you.”

“They can try.”

“How drunk are you?”

Jyn pushed herself up on her elbows. “I just rammed into the asshole from my class and laughed so hard I fell off him. You really need to ask that question?”

Cassian’s mouth was a hard line. “Did you just call me an asshole?”

Whoops. Jyn bit her lip, then tried a winning smile.

“Most people would say thank you.” Just like that, his head was gone and Jyn was left with revolving laser lights and no matter what they illuminated, it wasn’t as interesting as Cassian’s eyes.

Without Cassian standing over her, no one seemed to notice the wasted girl lying on the floor. Jyn got up, the playfulness gone. Had it even been playfulness? She bit her lip, flattening herself against the basement wall, detached from the festivities. What had that been, in all honesty? Cassian wasn’t really anything. He was a nuisance, a mere obstruction between her and an idyllic seat in a hellish class. Next semester when schedules changed, she wouldn’t even think of him, let alone cross paths with him.

Even though she had left the dance floor because apparently even drunk she had no rhythm, Jyn found herself navigating the crowd of sweaty, tight-packed bodies. Not because it was the direction Cassian had gone, but because she had seen a sofa earlier and she wanted to sit down. She would sit down and wait for Mark and think about important things, like dreams and interests and philosophy and family—

Jyn stopped in the middle of the dance floor. She could smell tequila in the air, radiating from the sweat clinging to the grinding bodies surrounding her. It was all moving too fast—the music, the lights, the dancing. She missed her tiny room with its creaky bed and lemon-smelling comforter and the way the light from her television turned the midnight hours from bleak grays and shadows to blues. Welcome Back, Kotter was on right now. She never got the humor, but the song at the end was nice. It made her wrap herself in her comforter and wish she’d been born into a sitcom where the main cast always stayed the same and nothing happened that was so bad it wasn’t fixed in twenty minutes.

That’s when she saw him again. Cassian, dancing with a girl, front to front, his head tilted down and his hips—Jyn swallowed as she followed the movement. She wished she could dance like him, that she could be the girl. It wasn’t even sexual, she told herself. He just emitted a warmth. Then he did the thing with the hips again and Jyn spun around because Cassian Andor with his ineffability and floppy hair and warm brown eyes had just made something flutter in her stomach.

  


Mark was sitting in between Bodhi and another friend on the couch, head hanging low. He was fantastically wasted. Jyn stopped to take his sorry state in, head tilted thoughtfully. She didn’t recall Mark being such a heavy drinker. Perhaps it had something to do with her presence. Jyn frowned. It wasn’t like his friends didn’t like her. On the contrary, Lily had proclaimed eternal love and devotion to her before throwing up in Oriana’s toilet. Michelle had complimented on her hair holding abilities. 

“Not a strand slips through,” Michelle had slurred with a beaming expression. “Not one.”

Jyn had curtsied at that, and nearly threw up herself. 

Deciding that Mark was a huge baby, Jyn stomped forward and poked him hard in the chest.

He glanced up, looking distinctly ill. “Jyn?”

Neither of his friends were paying much attention — Bodhi’s eyes were red enough to give the Terminator a run for its money, and the other guy was big, with a bored, vacant expression, back hunched—she decided to nickname him Poor Hair for the miserable mess of coarse black hair matted down on his head. Still. Cassian could have spies anywhere. There was so much Jyn didn’t know about him. She backed into the corner and beckoned Mark over. She felt safer with her back against a wall. He decided to try and ignore her. Storms gathered in Jyn’s eyes. The nerve. 

“Mark—Mark.” When that didn’t elicit any attention, she decided to start clacking. She’d seen it in a linguistics documentary. His friend with the poor hair turned to stare at her with a mixed expression of confusion and horror. 

“Jesus,” Mark said to his kneecaps, allowing himself one head hang — probably mentally throwing himself a pity party for this unfortunate lot in life — before trotting over to her. “What?” he asked with an expression of deep regret. 

“Why didn’t I know Cassian was hot?” 

Mark, confused, opened his mouth to most likely ask, “What is Cassian?” when he got cut off. 

“Bro,” Poor Hair said urgently. “Bro.” They stopped to look at him, but he forgot whatever had been so urgent and stared out into the distance with glassy eyes.

“Good talk, Kay.” Mark turned back to Jyn. “What were you saying about casseroles?”

“Not casseroles — Cassian.” She poked his chest again, because it had been fun the first time. It was so soft and squishy. She imagined Cassian’s chest was probably more taut. Maybe muscular. And it probably smelled nice — he smelled nice — Jyn inhaled deeply, and then realized what she was doing and why she and Mark were in the corner. “Mark! Why didn’t I know?”

“Um.”

“Honestly, Mark.”

He scratched his head.

“You’re my roommate,” she admonished. Patrón gave her righteous confidence. She was Mother Justice, and solo cups were her scales. She would right the wrongs of roommates across campus. She pointed a sloshing cup at Mark accusingly. “You should have said something. To think I let you use my fridge.”

“What do I have in your fridge?”

“Still—” He was so missing the point. Jyn swayed on her feet. Had Mark always been this stupid? “I give you the option. Duuuuuuuh.”

“There’s never any space in it anyways!”

“Do you or do you not use the Britta?”

Mark clenched his teeth. “I have a phobia of dirty water and you know it.” Somewhere at the back of her drunken mind, Jyn remembered she hadn’t changed the Britta filter in two months.

“Which is why I look after you.” Definitely need to change it soon. Mark would go besersk. Time to change the topic. “ Also, did I ever tell you how great tampons are?”

“What?”

“The applicators are just so much fun. It’s so satisfying when they slide out. Ooh!” The song changed. “I’m good, I’m good, I’m great,” Jyn sang along. What came out of her mouth didn’t at all resemble the song. Or English. Or even human sounds.

“You’re drunk.”

She tilted her head. Mark sounded disapproving. That was annoying. He also appeared blurry. She tilted her head even more. Blurry Mark disappeared.

“Whoops,” she said out loud, neck straightening. “He’s disappeared.” The audience in her head applauded the magic trick. Mark has mastered the art of invisibility. And he hadn’t even the courtesy to inform her. She pouted.

“We’re going home.” Mark’s voice came from her side. One arm slide under her armpit and suddenly she was being lifted off the counter. There was something familiar about the way he lifted her up, a reminder of a different time in her life and someone bigger, kinder, with genuine concern for her. A faint memory tickled Jyn’s brain and she was overwhelmed with the feeling of safety; she hadn’t felt that in a long time. Then Mark’s annoyed face loomed in front of her and her mind snapped back into the present, all traces of the memory gone.

“No, I’m having fun.” The words came out slurred. “Iwannastay.”

“Nope, we are going home and you are throwing up then I’m going to lie you down on your side with saran wrap under you so when you inevitably upchuck all your poor decisions in the middle of the night, it’ll be easier for me to clean up.”

“Wow.” Jyn teetered on her feet. She poked Mark’s forehead crease. “I didn’t get any of that.”

“Yep, home it is. Kay, you coming?”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.” Mark wasn’t really an idea person. He wasn’t a creative. He thought coloring books allowed too much freedom when they didn’t specify which color to use in which section. “I’m the idea person. I have great ideas.” She really did. If Mark could comprehend her drawings for mechanics, his opinion of her would change. He would revere her.

“Whoa, Jyn, where are you going?”

She turned around. Oh, Mark. Blurry, blurry Mark. He would not be able to handle it when she unleashed her ingenious plan of propositioning Cassian Andor. He would be forced to rethink his black-and-white universe. It was her duty to enlighten people like Mark, so they too could live life to the fullest. “I’m going to—” and she threw up all over his shoes.

“Definitely home,” was the last thing Jyn heard before she blacked out..

  


“I’m never taking you to a party again,” he announced before Jyn had taken two bleary steps into the common area. “And I’ve decided you owe me. I’m not sure what, but it’s going to be something.”

“Chipotle?” she offered, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

“Last night I saw all of your Chipotle, so it’s safe to say I’ll be steering clear for a while. And no for that–” Mark reached over her and dumped the orange juice into the sink. “Acidic. Don’t be a dick to your stomach. It’s suffered enough.”

Jyn groaned and burrowed her head into her arms. “Mark. I don’t have time for this.”

“Here,” he said in a considerably gentler tone than she thought possible. Jyn groaned again. Her head ached. Mark lightly tapped her arms—he was nudging a glass of water to her. “You’re dehydrated.”

“Vomiting, dehydration, headaches, is there anything I don’t have?” she grumbled and angrily snatched the water, downing it at once. And if she felt something like relief as the cool water poured down her throat, she decided not to say it to Mark.

Mark, it seemed, was testing out his bedside manners and didn’t say something very Mark-like about self-responsibility. 

He turned around to load the dishwasher. “Do you remember crying?”

Jyn froze. “No.”

“Well, you did,” he said conversationally. “On the walk back. Kay was with us. He told you to put snow on your face—”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

“Wow.” She didn’t remember meeting a Kay, but it didn’t seem like the best time to bring that up.

“Yeah.”

“Um… Mark…What was I—Do you remember what I said? When I was crying?”

“I think you were homesick. And, um, something about a family friend. I gather he passed away recently.” He glanced over at her. “My condolences.”

“Thanks.” It came out numb. She leaned back. Of all the regrettable things she’d done, that took the cake. Jyn loved having fun. She didn’t enjoy losing control. Losing Saw Gerrera had been rough. She must have told Mark more. They got along, but they weren’t Saw-Gerrera-details-disclosing close.

The kitchen suddenly felt too small and Jyn felt awkward, all of her limbs hanging out and she didn’t know what to do with anything.

“You also said this boy from your class was cute,” Mark said hopefully, in an attempt to diffuse the uncomfortable atmosphere settling around them.

“I’m taking a walk,” Jyn declared.

“That works too,” Mark said under his breath.

  


The café portion of the bakery was crowded, as was usual for a Saturday morning, filled with architect students running off caffeine and two hours of sleep, frantically sketching structures and floorplans out on napkins and study groups hogging outlets and window seats, discussing current politics or old philosophy with a laissez-faire attitude.

The tall circular tables located closer to the bakery counter and display case were sparsely populated with professors or business people getting a quick bite in before jetting off. Jyn preferred the detached, airport atmosphere of the tall tables to the cozy community in the café. She liked watching people leave. Right now, she was not watching people come and go with an intensity one could only classify as “creepy” but she was sitting across from Chirrut, still hungover and now groaning non-stop after recapping the night before.

As usual, Chirrut tried to put a good spin on all her tales of woe. “At least you’re meeting new people. And I think your roommate’s warmed up to you.”

“I threw up all over his Tubulars.”

“What’s a Tubular?”

Behind the counter, Baze was shaking his head. “Kids today and their toys. Back when I was young, we played with extra pipes we found on the street. No sissy manufactured plastic tubes for us—why the hell is a grown man playing with toys at a party anyways?”

Jyn chose the path of less resistance and didn’t attempt to inform Baze that Tubulars were a specific type of shoe.

Chirrut patted her arm encouragingly. “Let’s rewind. Let’s go back to before you embarrassed yourself in front of your judgmental roommate, his plethora of friends and a crowded basement of your peers.”

She groaned and buried her head into her arms.

Chirrut continued. “Didn’t you say you got a hundred percent on something? Wasn’t that your reason for going out?”

“I’m never celebrating any of my successes again,” Jyn vowed.

Baze snorted. “Why don’t we focus on making the successes first?”

Jyn’s head was still on the table, but she envisioned Chirrut shooting Baze a stern and unrelenting glare. The remarks stopped.

“It was mechanics,” she said, finally lifting her head. “And it was easy, it was all about different type of blaster mechanisms, and some electrical engineer designs.”

“Military brat.”

“Your muffins are uninspired,” she shot back.

Baze stopped drying the mug. “You take that back!”

She stuck her tongue out. “Will not.”

He slapped the rag down on the counter and started pointing at the display case. “Raspberry muffin. Pumpkin muffin. Five spice muffin. Banana oatmeal coconut muffin. Whole wheat carrot cake muffin —”

“Again, who wants a whole wheat muffin?”

“Oh, you take it back, take—it—back!”

“Never!”

Chirrut rubbed his temples. “I am with the Force, the Force is with me. In a bakery. Among two bickering children.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter that'll feature Mark heavily. The next two (possibly three?) will be more on Jyn and Cassian and the rest of the gang kinda coming together. Also Krennic next chapter.


	3. Lesson 1: Attend Your College Lectures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe Mark had been right. Maybe skipping every lecture except for the first one wasn’t the smartest move."  
> In which our rock-solid and totally together heroine meets the evil professor Krennic.

“Jesus Christ!” 

Jyn looked up to see Mark, walking out of the bathroom and wearing only a towel, jump at the sight on her in the kitchen and run into his room, swearing under his breath. 

“Why are you freaking out?” Jyn shouted to him. “I know you’re gay, and I’d never be into you anyways.” It was the reason they’d originally believed they’d make such compatible roommates. There was the sound of scuffling and more swearing from Mark’s room.

“It’s not that–“ his face popped up in the doorjamb as he hobbled about, furiously trying to pull a sock on. “It’s a principle–privacy.”

“You walked out into the common room.” Jyn rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the stove, where an old-fashioned and dank looking kettle was perched. 

“Yeah, but you’re never up this early on Tuesdays.” With one final bang of the wooden dresser drawers, Mark emerged from his room ruffled but clothed with a distressed expression that exaggerated the trauma that had actually occurred. He walked over to the counter, eyes immediately going to the spot Jyn usually pushed her offerings of food and friendship. It was empty. He glanced around the kitchen, noting that none of the pans were out of place, and the pantry shelf and fruit bowl was untouched. He always complained that she took the good bananas. 

Jyn just smiled at him. “Going to class today.” She ignored the exasperated expression he shot her after he calculated how many classes she must have missed at this point. 

“Jyn.”

“Oh, what? The professor was bore, and I fell asleep in the first lecture. What’s the point?”

“Um, an education and around sixty thousand units a year?” He shook his head and grabbed a banana. 

Jyn dismissed the second comment. She’d never told Mark she was on scholarship. It would only infuriate and concern him even more; scholarship students generally don’t skip all their classes. At least, they don’t do it and still keep their scholarships. 

Mark gestured around vaguely. “No breakfast banquet today?”

On cue, the kettle let out a low whistle. Jyn turned the stove off and poured the hot water into a waiting mug. “Nope.” Jyn flashed him another smile. “I’m trying something new. Green tea.”

“Uh-huh.”

He eyed her warily and took another huge bite of banana.

“Shouldn’t you wait until you swallow–never mind.” She shook her head. “I’m on a diet now.”

“What the fuck? You’re like a hundred pounds.”

“Well, like a mental diet. I’m starting over, all new, all natural foods, good karma and Buddhism.”

Mark stared at her. “You’re doing a cleanse. And getting into far-out mythology.”

“Yes. You know, I really didn’t give the theologies of far-out galaxies much of a chance, really. So I’m revisiting that.”

“Fantastic,” Mark mumbled under his breath. He got up, dropped his banana peel in the trash and headed to the door before glancing back. They hadn’t talked since the day after the party and Jyn had excelled at avoiding him a totally natural manner that did not spike any suspicion, but she could tell from his furrowed brow that he was wondering just how okay she really was. 

With a convincing smile, she waved him off. Accepting it with apprehension, Mark left. Jyn sighed deeply, took a sip of her tea and immediately spat it out. No one had told her tea was so bitter. She dumped the contents of her class down the kitchen sink, and with nothing left to do, headed to the 8am lecture she’d skipped every week. 

 

Weapons Through the Wars was an exceptionally boring requirement for military studies majors, and it was taught by only one professor at two separate times, which some genius with a vindictive streak in admissions decided to make 8a.m.. It was a class Jyn allowed herself to skip without guilt, mainly because she came from the Outer Rim, which meant she already knew about all the wars, and she had lived with Saw Gerrera, which meant she already knew about all the weapons. Today, however, one of the two major essays for class was due, and in hard-copy, which meant Jyn had to wake up, waltz down to the east end of campus, climb approximately two hundred steps in the Manarun lecture hall, and sit through two hours of endless droning by an old professor who insisted on the brightest all-white ensemble Jyn had ever encountered in her life. She could only theorize that in addition to rendering his students deaf through his lectures, the professor aimed the blind them simultaneously, probably as some experimental pedagogical method of hands-on learning and subtle torture methods. 

Finally, as the clock neared 9:45, the professor halted his continuous pacing of the three-by-four stage he occupied at the front of the lecture hall–secretly, Jyn had been hoping he’d misstep and fall off–and clapped his hands together. 

Somehow, everyone else in the lecture hall understood what that meant and got up, stapled white papers in hand. With a frown, Jyn plucked hers off her desk and fell in line with the others. It was just a line to hand the papers in, but Jyn was jarred at how distanced she was from her peers, that she hadn’t naturally picked up on a simple cue. Perhaps you should put attendance improvement above increasing tea tolerance on your self-improvement list, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mon Mothma.

Some students stopped to chat with the professor–the clean-cut ones with the thickest essays complete with cover pages–but most left without a word, but with a loud bang as they pushed open the heavy lecture room doors. 

Finally it was Jin’s turn. She put her paper on the stack and turned to leave, but the professor–picking up her paper–did a quick double-take at her face before she could escape the room. “Who are you?”

Jyn froze. “Um…” Maybe Mark had been right. Maybe skipping every lecture except for the first one wasn’t the smartest move.

“Are you even in this class?” He set the stack of essays down and folded his arms. His features became exponentially sterner when he tilted his head down a few degrees. 

“Yes.”

Narrowed eyes–never a good sign. Jyn shifted her weight, fighting the urge to bolt out of the auditorium. “What was the topic of the last lecture?”

“Uh…”

“Do you even know my name?”

“Doctor Krennic,” a helpful but scared voice whispered from the line behind her. 

“Krennic?” Jyn tried. He was unimpressed. 

“Show me your student ID.” He projected his voice and attention to the line behind him–clearly this was a chance teaching lesson. “I have said it once, and I have said it before–I do not tolerate cheating or plagiarism in any form. You as a student are required to write and submit your essays, not have someone else do it for you.” 

Jyn swallowed and swung her backpack around, desperately fishing around for the lanyard with her ID on it. She flashed a weak smile at Krennic, whose brow was getting more and more furrowed. He would become exponentially more upset when he put it together that she was not a friend filling in for a slacker student, but the actual slacker student herself. Oh, God. Jyn’s heart sank. She’d touched every item in her backpack and the lanyard was not one of them.

“I think I left it at home.” She let out a nervous laugh. 

Krennic glowered. The white suit didn’t look so ridiculous anymore. He looked less Colonel Sanders and more like the devil. “Wait off to the side. We’re going to have a chat.”

Groaning, Jyn stepped out of line. 

The other students made a point not to look at her as they all but threw their papers at Krennic and hurried out of the lecture hall. “That was so cringe,” one guy whispered to his friend before they left, laughing.

Krennic didn’t say a word to her, but occasionally, between the stream of essays, he would go back to the stack, push a couple off to find hers, and look to the upper left corner where she’d typed her name. 

 

By 10:15, the essays were collected and the lecture room had emptied. Without a word to her, Krennic took the stack of essays–placing hers on top–and exited the room. It was implied she should follow, and for the first time in her college career, Jyn was actually frightened of what would happen if she ran the other way. Everything about this professor–doctor?–screamed consequences.

Manarun was housed in the Ocaric building, along with the offices of the military studies department. Draven’s office was here, and most military studies specific lectures were held in Manarun. Still, Jyn hadn’t spent nearly as much time in this building as she should have. Given the generous donations from military families, it shouldn’t surprised her that Ocaric was in good up-keep, but as they walked down the marble-tiled and marble-walled halls, complete with ancient columns and adorned with expensive looking paintings, she was awestruck. 

Krennic’s office was the last office on the fifth floor, which ended with a magnificent window. As Jyn was ushered into the office, she glimpsed clear blue and sand–the secret beaches did exist. 

“Sit down.” Krennic was somehow already in his chair. The interior of his office equaled the grandeur of the hall outside–leather chairs, expensive wooden desk and bookshelves, hand-carved and filled with books. His office had windows, but Jyn noticed they were boarded with through thick black curtains. Maybe he was a vampire. 

She complied, sitting down in the leather seat opposing Krennic. He looked over her essay, humming to himself. Jyn tapped her foot quietly, her shoulders hunching forward and she twiddled her thumbs in her lap. The room was nice, but the lack of windows and pushed together bookshelves made it claustrophobic. It felt like an army of three thousand year old philosophers were staring her down through the bindings of their books, and at any given moment they would simulatenously fall in a literal avalanche and bury her sleeping-in undeserving soul.

“Jyn,” Krennic drawled, testing her name like young children tested bath water. She snapped to attention. The professor had an odd expression on his face–was he sneering at her? “So typical of your father.”

“What is?” The words came out curt. She had a bad feeling in her gut, the kind that used to tell her to ditch the mission and run because some distant clog in Saw’s ever-expanding network had glitches and something had gone terribly wrong. She couldn’t run now, not on university, not with her essay in this man’s hands, and not from this intimidating office with no windows. 

Krennic smiled at her and ignited a flame of hatred, more intense than she’d ever experienced before. It was smug. As a rule, Jyn begrudged any wealth of knowledge regarding her father that was unearthed by someone who was no Saw, but she hated this particular bearer of knowledge because he’d been so suspecting. Her father shouldn’t pop up in her new university life in anyway. 

And she should know what was typical of her father; she shouldn’t have to ask. The flipped nature was uneasy, like staring into a warped mirror that reflected everything wrong. 

“That…unique choice of name.” His mouth curled into a smile. 

“It’s just a name. It doesn’t even mean anything.” She would know. She’d spent countless hours of her youth flipping searching translation engines and old folklores trying to find a connection that just didn’t exist. 

Krennic preened. “Exactly.” He tossed her paper in the blue plastic bin. Jyn’s eyes followed the movement. “Shredding,” he offered as an explanation. 

“What? I spent all night on that paper.”

“All of last night, probably.”

“Actually, no. I spent last night hungover, thank you very much. That was my Sunday night.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Irrelevant. It wasn’t worth much anyways.”

“You mean for my grade?”

“Oh, no, it makes up fifty percent of your grade. As a matter of fact, it’s a requirement for passing. I meant your work. I mean, look at you–you’ve skipped all the lectures, your essay was single-spaced, held together with a paper clip of all things, and a quick look at your records indicates severe issues with authority. And you’ve just admitted to both underage drinking and irresponsible drinking.”

“Everyone on this campus drinks!”

“Responsibly.” Krennic leaned forward, a smug grin on his face. “You are an unmotivated, C-minus slacker who weaseled into this university through an ill-advised Robin Hood scheme—“

“Are you talking about the Every Child Deserves a Chance scholarships?”

“One head of Mon Mothma’s brain-washing propaganda-filled hydra, yes, and a symptom of a deeper problem pervading modern society.”

She stored the detail of Krennic knowing Mon Mother away for later. “The idea that everyone is equal and deserving?”

“There is no such thing. Some people have worth. Some people have made up names, inherent laziness, and they clutter our universe like volatile asteroids. I assume, given your origins in—” He glanced back at her file with a grimace “—Vallt, you understand the danger of asteroid fields, and therefore understand why they must be eradicated.”

“You have something against the Outer Rim?”

Krennic grinned. Jyn had never encountered something so unpleasant in her life, until he opened his mouth to speak. “Can you be against something that doesn’t exist?” Chills ran down Jin’s spine. “Don’t answer–I don’t have time to wait out your thinking process.”

“As the War Through Weapons professor, shouldn’t you be against historical genocide? It’s never been right.”

He bristled. “The course is titled Weapons through the Wars, which is something you would know had you attended any lecture, given that I am in the habit of announcing both my name, section number and course title at the beginning should any red-eyed degenerates have stumbled upon my class in grave, pot-induced error.”

“I attended the first one,” Jyn mumbled.

“And,” Krennic continued, “had you done the readings, you would have uncovered my views in the assigned excerpt from my dissertation. Can you name the dissertation?”

“Uh.” Jyn floundered. “Ethnic-Cleansing for the Ignorants?”

“Did you even download the syllabus?” Krennic didn’t feign disappointment; his face was ecstatic as an elf on Christmas. She figured he would have made a chipper and efficient grave digger, what with his perverse delight of misery. 

Jyn bit her lip. Downloading required a laptop, and a laptop required money, but at this point it was clear Krennic was a nut and the quickest way out of this office was to keep quiet and be ridiculed, or risk being gassed to death. 

“It is called The Storm-Sorter’s Guide to the Galaxy.” He paused, spinning his chair slightly to the side so he could show off his profile, and Jyn could understand why. People must usually be impressed by this, and she was no exception. It was everything she could do to keep her jaw from hitting the ground.

“That was you?” An undercurrent of anger bubbled within her. That ethnocentric drivel was the bane of every person born in the Outer Rim’s existence.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. Much of literature and theories were already in existence, I simply saw the connections to bring it all together.”

“What you brought together was mass destruction.”

“Truth is much like a forest fire. What may seem like destruction is the natural order of things.” Mistaking her disgust for confusion, he elaborated. “Forest fires take place in the woods, and after everything is burned to ashes, new plants and trees are fertilized.” 

“I’m kind of glad I skipped your lectures.”

“That is the flippancy allowed to infiltrate our institution of learning, thanks to that big-eyed bug of a woman.”

“You must be a Death Star supporter.”

“The Death Star is merely a thought experiment,” Krennic said delicately. “Enough verbal sparring, it’s really for the dolt-minded philosophy majors–honestly, if you’re willing to spent sixty thousand units to be taught to think, the education won’t save you.”

“Taught how to think. And how not to,” she added after a moment of contemplation, “you know, if they’re taking one of your courses.”

Krennic’s smug grin tightened at the corners, thinning his lips over his intimidatingly white teeth. “Again, Miss Erso, some people have worth, and some are rats in a maze.”

“And you’re the traveling salesman of rat poison.”

“Well…” He demured. “Sometimes rats have uses. They can become effective messages.” 

The chills were back. Jyn sensed the conversation was veering back to her father. 

“You’re right. I’m a degenerate slacker who’s probably not gonna graduate, and I’ll die alone because I don’t have anyone. No family. I’ve been alone as long as I remember. I don’t know anything about my mother or father–“

“Save it. I know you know where Galen is.”

“I really don’t.”

“I need his coordinates, places he could be hiding.”

Jyn shrugged. “Can’t help you.”

Krennic leaned forward with a glower. “I can make life very difficult for you, Miss Erso.”  
“Well, you’ll have to get in line.”

“Not only am I tenured professor at this establishment, but I am also a distinguished chair, do you understand what that means?”

“People sit on you?” Jyn crossed her arms and shut her mouth, her teeth anxiously gnawing at the inside of her bottom lip. She’d learned through her time at Saw’s that this expression made it hard for people to guess what she was thinking or feeling and it had become her best armor. 

“One…concern expressed by me, and you’ll find yourself in front of a jury of your peers for evaluation.”

“Are you threatening to kick me out of university?”

“No, Miss Erso.” He tapped the screen in front of him. “It looks like you’re doing a fine job of that on your own. I’m merely acting as a catalyst. A catalyst–“

“I know what that means,” she snapped. “And that’s unethical. I could report you.”

“Go ahead.” Krennic shrugged and lazily spun in his chair. “You are a pebble, Miss Erso, and I intend to crush you. You can kiss your delirious drunken days of gallivanting the beach goodbye–“

“I have never done that,” she mumbled.

“–because unless you comply and act as some value to me, you won’t make it through this semester.”

“What? You’re going to obliterate me like the ten thousand innocent people who died–“

“You must let go of these inferior Outer Rim teachings. Inferiority is the inability to distinguish fictions from reality, and I assure you that Storm Troopers do not exist, and Darth Vader will not snatch you from your bed if you don’t brush your teeth, and there is no special Force that will make you warm and cuddly inside and protect you like a bubble. These are children’s stories turned into propaganda designed to set us back centuries.” 

Jyn’s heart dropped to the bottom of her feet. His words had conjured up the image of gray skies and dark jagged rocks and tall grass that burned with green intensity against its background and the faces of her mother and father–

“So what now.” She hated how disheartened her voice sounded. 

“Do you know where your father is?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked this. She’d ceased to wonder why people were so desperate to find her father in the first place; he’d left her with enough unanswered questions. 

Krennic leaned forward. “You expect me to believe that Galen left his only child with his best friend without any means of contact?”

Jyn’s eyes flashed up to meet his. “Yes.”  
“I already told you what I can do–“

“Yeah, I get it. I don’t know where he is. Clearly, you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

She braced herself for the high volume yelling and effective-immediately expulsion. Krennic just sighed, and leaned back. He studied her once more then shook his head and waved her off. Jyn, paralyzed in her chair, didn't move. 

Krennic lifted his chin. “You may go now. I have no need of you.” At the current moment.   
Jyn stared at her essay in his hands. The power dynamic was clear; Krennic didn’t even need intimidation tactics. She was a C-minus slacker failing out of an elite institution, and he had tenure. Without a word, she got up and left his office.

 

Jyn stood in front of window, looking down at the beautiful beach she hadn’t believed existed–and still, didn’t quite understand how to get there from the outside–and fought back the urge to cry. How her life had become a frustrated knot she had no idea, but it didn't escape her that this university had managed to place the one thing that calmed her next to the office of the man who was probably going to academically pulverize her. And possibly her father, in a twist of fate.

“Um.”

Jyn jumped, hit her head off the glass of the window and spun around to find Mark’s friend with the bad hair standing in front of Krennic’s office with a stack of papers. 

“I know you.” He pointed at Jyn and almost dropped the stack. His voice had a petulant tone, like a child speaking to an adult friend of his mother’s who he had already decided to detest.

“Who are you?”

“K-2SO.”

“Kay,” she remembered. She casually wiped the bags of her eyes. Her hands came away dry. Okay. Jyn took a deep, shaky breath in, and then flashed Kay a smile. “What are you doing in this part of hell?”

He inclined his head to the door. “TA.”

“Unfortuante.”

He nodded, then started walking away.

“Wait-wait-wait–“ Jyn ran up to him. “What are those papers?”

“Essays from the war weapon class–“ he glanced down at a small post-it attached to it. “The A section.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s from the Tuesday-and-Thursday lectures, not the Wednesday-and-Fridays lecture.” He bristled as Jyn walked closer to him, craning her neck to better see the essays. “You’re in my personal space.”

“Can you check to see if mine’s in there?”

“Why?”

“I’m in that lecture.”

“Shouldn’t you know if you turned it in.”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

They had reached the end of the hallway, at the stairs. Kay sighed. “There’s over a hundred essays here.”

“It’ll be quick.”

“My arms are tired.”

“I’ll help you carry them home.”

Kay stared at her. “Don’t you have classes?”

“Cancelled,” she lied. 

His stomach grumbled. He smiled at the excuse. “I really don’t have the time. Fast metabolism, so I need to get food.” She scoffed at the fast metabolism commented which left him gravely insulted. 

“I’ll buy you food,” she coaxed. “Please. Listen, it’s too complicated to explain, but it’s important, I promise.”

Kay sighed. “Fine. But you’re carrying ninety-three percent of these.”

“That’s very precise–“ Jyn stumbled as Kay unceremoniously dumped a hundred and thirteen essays into her unsuspecting arms and briskly started down the stairs.

“How’d you get these so fast?” Her voice was muffled through the stacks. “We turned them in like an hour ago.”

“I was in the side office.”

Jyn’s heart skipped a beat. “There’s a side office?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest apologies for not updating sooner. I promise I haven't forgotten this fix. In a small tbh and possibly tmi, I fell into a bad bout of depression a little while back, and I'm starting to get out of it. Writing is a little funny for me right now so criticism is EXTREMELY WELCOME. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is still reading this, I'm extremely grateful and again SO SO SORRY but just know I do have a plan for this story and will update. (I would never abandon Jyn)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I originally had K-2SO as her roommate, but then it didn't click for ~plot reasons~ so I made an OC that may have unconsciously been influenced by Luke Skywalker/Mark Hamill. Whoops. Hope he doesn't distract too much from the story, and hope this story is a pleasant distraction for you :)
> 
> This is sort of a blended verse with some Star Wars elements but a modern setting. If anything is confusing please tell me!
> 
> Up next: The Party™ and FunDrunk!Jyn and K-2SO AND MORE!


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